


Troubled Waters

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Sirens, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, monster hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Sobs wracked his chest as last night played in his head, over and over, Jaskier saw more signs that he ignored. How could he be so in tune with every woman he touched, and such an idiot with Geralt, the love of his—
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 740





	Troubled Waters

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to give everyone a general warning about The Witcher fandom. As I see it, this reminds me of Sherlock's heyday: amazing show with a lot of back story, extended universe, and lots of unaccounted for narrative time to fill with fan fiction. My guess is, there will be a lot of great fics coming out, then it'll go down to a trickle... then none at all. Then, a new season will come out and we'll start all over again. There will be lean months, so enjoy the bounty of fics now. Find some favorites and hold on to them, we deserve something fun to read :)
> 
> Sirens are kind of in the sex pollen family, right? To be fair, I did set out to write a sex pollen fic, and decided sirens were a better idea. And obviously, since this is sex pollen, there is dub-con, misunderstandings and sadness, but don't worry, it all works out in the end. Enjoy :)

“I don't like this place,” Geralt grumbled, his eyes scanning the pub.

Jaskier shook his head. “You don't like any place.”

He moved towards the bar but Geralt's heavy hand on his shoulder held him on the spot. He pointed across the room to the dark sort of corner table Geralt himself might occupy. Two fearsome-looking men in black armor sat together, brooding over two flagons of ale.

“I don't like this place,” Geralt said again. His eyes blazed, trying to communicate something Jaskier was too thick to pick up on.

“Are those—” he peered back at the men, one of whom glared out at them, “—are those Witchers?”

“Yes.” Geralt tried to haul Jaskier back out the door. “We need to leave.”

“Ah, I think it's too late for that.” The dark-haired Witcher rose from the table and started towards them.

Geralt ground his teeth. “Fuck.”

“Geralt,” the man greeted. His voice was icy, like he wished death on them both for the mere crime of breathing. Not until this moment had Jaskier ever thought of Geralt as the 'friendly' Witcher.

“Böse,” he answered, his voice just as cold.

The other Witcher—Böse, apparently—eyed Jaskier. “Who's this?”

Geralt took a step in front of Jaskier, shielding him. “ _My_ bard.”

“A bard?” Böse glanced at him again. “How's he fuck?”

“Fine.”

“Might need to get one. I'm here with Philair.” He nodded towards the other Witcher, this one a bit more fair, but with the same sneer. “Come, we need to talk.”

“I'll be along,” Geralt said.

Böse turned and went back to the table. Both of them stared now, watching Geralt's every move.

“Oh that was nice of you.” Jaskier snapped. “Don't even use my name when you introduce me to a friend, make me out as a fuck toy when I'm the reason for—”

“Jaskier, shut up!” Geralt pushed him back and hid them behind a pillar, dropping his voice to a whisper. “They are not my friends, Witchers aren't friends with other schools. We should never meet up like this, it's not our way.” He glanced across the pub. Two sets of eyes watched him, waiting. “You need to stay here. I'll see what business they have, then we leave.” Jaskier tried to protest, but Geralt was already half way across the room.

Grunting a greeting, he sat down in the empty chair next to the table. It was as if they knew he was coming.

“Tell me quick so I can leave. I don't like sharing hunting grounds,” he growled.

“Nor do we,” Philair said. “But we have a problem that concerns us all.”

“Four days ago,” Böse said, “Hal and I crossed paths. He said he was coming here for a job, a river monster nearby. Two days ago, I hear he took the job and never came back. I come to investigate, only to find two Witchers have tried to best that same river monster. Neither came back.”

“Their gear disappeared as well,” Philair said. “No one in town has it. Trust me, I've... asked around.”

Ah, so that was it. An unbeatable monster might draw one Witcher at a time, but missing potions were a concern to all. “So you think three together can defeat what killed two alone?”

“Better odds,” Böse said. “Our secrets cannot slip into the world. No more Witchers can be made, this is true, but what's to stop some fool wizard from trying? Especially if he believes he has the ingredients.”

They all nodded, the plan silently set.

“How far is it?”

“An hour's ride. We can make it well before dawn and have you back in your bard's bed.”

Geralt growled low under his breath, hating the implication, that he was somehow soft for having someone to fuck when they all knew he was the strongest here. “Let me make arrangements for my bard. Then we'll go.”

Without another word, Geralt rose from the table and found Jaskier right where he left him: half hiding behind the support pillar, half watching the table full of Witchers.

“So?” he asked. “What's happening?”

“Someone is laying a trap for Witchers.” None of them said it out loud, but they all suspected it. A creature strong enough to best two Witchers was probably smart as well, smart enough to know others would come to retrieve their belongings. This was half trap, half sport for whatever they were hunting.

“Get a room and stay put,” Geralt ordered. “If I'm not back in... two days, leave. I'll send Roach if I can and she'll lead you back to me. If I'm dead, she won't come at all.”

A lump formed in Jaskier's throat. “You can't be serious. Three fucking Witchers and you think this monster stands a chance?”

“Two Witchers are already dead,” he growled. “Do as I say.” The others had finished their drinks and headed out, catching Geralt's eye as they went. “I'm leaving now. Do as I say.” Wrenching away from Jaskier, Geralt followed them outside.

In the stable, Geralt took a moment to whisper instructions to Roach. She was a smart horse and could find Jaskier well enough, the smell of his perfumes alone would draw her. Then they all mounted up and rode out in silence.

It was still dark when they reached the river, but Geralt already saw the invisible light of the far off dawn climbing up from the horizon. Part of him was glad to have a monster to fight now, as the three rode in complete silence, he found that he missed Jaskier's incessant chatter.

They all dismounted and readied their weapons. Geralt was the first to spot the pile of Witcher armor and saddle bags near the edge of the river. The pockets looked full, all potions in tact. Geralt held out an arm to stop the others. “That's bait,” he whispered.

“Yes, so where's the hook?” Böse whispered back.

A glowing light sliced through the darkness, sending spikes of pain through the sensitive Witcher eyes. It only took a fraction of a second for them to adjust, and when they opened their eyes, a beautiful woman, all in white, sat at the edge of the river.

She smiled at them, her perfect bow lips pressed together in a coquettish, yet dangerous way. Like the farmer's daughter, experienced beyond her years, ready to bed you, or set her brothers' on you, whichever pleased her at the moment.

All three Witchers sneered, “Siren.”

Unfazed by their knowledge, she extended one shining hand out towards them, her fingers caressing the pile of Witcher belongings. “If you want them, you have to come closer,” her song of a voice rang through the trees, singing like a bell.

“Not likely,” Böse growled.

She shrugged, a strangely fluid movement, and laid herself down on top of the saddle bags, her feet still in the water. “These concoctions can't kill us, and if you won't take them, we can pour them in our waters. What do we care for the poor, poisoned peasants?” One drop of any Witcher potion was enough to kill a man, four saddle bags full might well kill the entire kingdom if the water went far enough.

Geralt tried to signal to the others to hold. The siren expected them, they lost no surprise by retreating and finding a better plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Philair twitch and knew that was the end of any possible plan. The impulsive Witcher surged forward, Geralt and Böse right behind him. They had to go in together, plan or no plan, one alone could not best this beast.

Raising his silver sword, Philair chopped at the siren's legs just as she got her hand around his. Screaming in pain, cut off from the water, her claws ripped and tore at Philair as she died. But they were nowhere near done. Ocean or sea, river or pond, sirens hunted in flocks.

More luminous women slid out of the river, their artificial beauty quickly morphing to shining scales and sharp teeth. The Witchers cut at them with their silver swords, one monster after another screaming in agony, clawing at their enemies.

When only one siren remained, Geralt swung his sword to cleave her head from her body. She ducked, snaking her tail around his leg and pulling him into the water. “No!” Böse and Philair shouted.

The siren dragged him to the middle of the river and held Geralt to her breast, one hand around his neck. She smirked at the two trapped on shore. “One Witcher is enough for me. You'll never get him back, and now I will poison this river to avenge my sisters.” His shirt soaked, body pressed tight to hers, Geralt already felt her spell working. She didn't even need to sing, the water carried the magic for her and his cock started to stir. It wouldn't be long before he didn't want to be rescued.

Böse's head twitched to the right and Geralt had the blink of an eye to respond. He turned to the right just as Böse's sword sliced through the air, burying itself in the siren's face. Her hands went slack and let go, her body tumbling into the river with a splash.

All the sirens dead and the threat gone, Philair jumped into the water and dragged Geralt out while Böse secured the potions safe on shore. With the battle finished, Philair dropped Geralt to tend his own wounds.

The siren was dead, but Geralt's head was still spinning. The water, so warm, like the embrace of a lover...

A strong arm hit him across the chest, bringing him out of the spell for a moment. Böse smirked at him. “We'd better get you back to your bard right away. Looks like you got the full shock of it.”

“But they're dead,” Geralt tried to protest. “Shouldn't it—”

“Touch a siren's waters, get infected with a siren's spell. Don't worry, it should wear off by morning. I hope your bard is sturdier than he looks.”

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed before the last bits of sanity left him. “Give me the blue one.”

Böse and Philair looked up from the pile of potions they divided into three equal shares. The dead couldn't use them, but the three live Witchers could. “You sure? The only good thing about a siren is working off the spell after you've killed it. The blue one will take all the fun out of it.”

“The blue one,” Geralt demanded.

“Fine.” Böse gathered up Geralt's share of potions and put them in his saddle bags. “We'll help you back to the inn, then we part ways. A third of the gold from this is yours, collect it with the town magistrate tomorrow.”

“I don't care about gold!” Geralt shouted, his blood starting to boil, cock already straining. “Give me the potion!”

“You won't make it back if you're a bag of bones. Tell your bard what you need. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help.”

Böse and Philair were in much better moods now that the sirens were dead and their magic recovered, but Geralt couldn't focus. He had just enough senses left to know what was going to happen the moment he saw Jaskier. How hard he'd pull and grab, kisses that bruised, fingers that broke bones. He'd have to take the blue potion quickly to save him...

While they were assholes, they weren't so callous as to leave Geralt to fend for himself. They pushed him onto his horse and made sure he followed as they rode back to town. The one thought that kept him upright was the thing Geralt dreaded most: he needed Jaskier. If he held out for an hour... yes, Jaskier would quench the burning in his skin, his cock and his heart. Whether Jaskier would still be there in the morning, that was a different matter.

In all his years, Geralt had never endured such a long, drawn out hour of time. Not in any battle, any moment of his Witcher training or torturous transformations. As soon as the light of the inn blazed in his eyes, he jumped off Roach's back, stumbling towards the inn. Jaskier was inside, he could smell him.

“Hold on there.” Böse grabbed him by the hair and locked his arms together behind his back. “Philair, put his mare away, then help me carry him in. We can't let go until he's in his room. He'll kill half the pub like this.”

Geralt strained against the hold. He was stronger than Böse, but the other Witcher managed to hold him. The siren's spell... it weakened him, maybe enough to save Jaskier from his lust.

Philair returned and took his other arm. They frog marched him through the pub, searching out Jaskier. The usually chipper bard was in the corner, sadly strumming his lute. “Hey, bard!” Böse shouted. Jaskier's head snapped up and a bright smile bloomed across his face as soon as he saw Geralt alive and well. “Up to your room! Now!”

Geralt's eyes fell on Jaskier and he tried to escape his captors, some of his strength returning. Lucky for him, they were going the same way he wanted to go, so he didn't have to fight much.

The other patrons of the pub watched them go, whispering horrible rumors about the savage Witchers. Böse and Philair pushed everyone aside, throwing nasty glares. “This is none of your business,” they snapped at those who continued to stare. “Go back to your drinks.”

“What's wrong with him?” Jaskier asked, stopping at the foot of the stairs to survey Geralt.

Böse kicked out a foot aimed at the bard's ass. Jaskier dodged. “Get moving!” he shouted. “We can't hold him much longer!”

He caught hints of Jaskier's scent outside the inn, but now, so close, Geralt started to struggle again, his strength returning. “Jaskier,” he growled.

“Hang on, Geralt, almost there.” He fumbled with the key and nearly dropped it, catching it and finally opening the door.

Böse and Philair threw Geralt down on the bed, both men restraining him. “He wants the blue potion!” Philair shouted at Jaskier. “Black bag, the blue potion!”

The familiar words, his words from an hour ago, cut through the fog of lust filling Geralt's brain. “Yes,” he panted, “yes, Jaskier... blue potion.” While a siren's spell usually created indiscriminate desire, Geralt wasn't distracted by the two Witchers holding him down. Whether it was the strength of his will, or some other talent he wasn't aware of, Geralt managed to focus on Jaskier. Only Jaskier's touch would satisfy, only he would do.

“Blue potion, blue potion?” Jaskier riffled through the black bag as asked, finding only little bottles filled with a black, inky substance. “Blue? There's no fucking blue! Can I interest you in a white?”

“Oh, give it here.” Philair ripped the bag from Jaskier and pulled out a small blue-black vial. To a Witcher's eyes, the subtle color difference blazed as bright as the sun. Uncorking the bottle, he held it to Geralt's lips. “You sure this is what you want?”

“Yes... fucking give it to me.” It took every ounce of self restraint Geralt had left to say those words. He balled his twitching fingers into fists to keep himself from grabbing Jaskier, so near...

Philair poured the bottle's contents into Geralt's open mouth and stepped back. Böse did the same and Geralt did not move to jump at Jaskier. A Witcher's brews worked quickly, and this one had already set about turning Geralt's muscles to jelly then replacing them with lead. He couldn't move, not much and not well, exactly what he needed and the exact opposite of what he wanted.

The room went silent as all three breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” The panic in Jaskier's voice sliced through the calm. Well, he was the only sensible one here right now. Geralt left, sounding like he was marching to his death, only to come back hours later in a mysterious condition? Fucking Witchers and their lack of communication.

“Siren. He'll be fine by morning,” Böse said, rather unhelpfully. “I'd take his armor off if I were you. Make things easier.”

Both Witchers chuckled and headed for the door. “Collect his share of the gold with the magistrate tomorrow,” Philair said before shutting the door behind them.

With the other Witchers gone, Jaskier turned back to Geralt, who seemed to be paralyzed by whatever the hell potion he took.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and started pulling Geralt out of his armor. “Geralt, what the fuck just happened? What did they give you?”

“Muscle relaxant, mostly.” While he felt much weaker than normal, Geralt was not, in fact, paralyzed. Or his arms weren't, because they grabbed Jaskier as soon as he was in range. One of Geralt's strong hands held tight to Jaskier's wrist, which made removing his armor quite a challenge.

“Well, I understand the siren bit. Why'd you want a muscle relaxant? Seems the opposite of helpful.”

Jaskier's hand went to the ties of his breeches—the last layer between Geralt's cock and the world, a layer he desperately wanted gone—but Geralt caught his wrist, squeezing hard. “Jaskier, no. I don't want to hurt you. Jaskier...”

“Nonsense.” Jaskier got his hands loose and finally freed Geralt's aching cock from its confines. “You know I don't mind a bruise or a love bite here and there.”

“Don't...” The last bit of Geralt's resistance vanished the second Jaskier's talented fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock. “Stop...” He didn't understand. Why was no one listening to him? Böse and Philair knew how much a Witcher had to hold back with a human, and they laughed as they left him to bruise and break his? Geralt couldn't fight any longer and he knew he'd damage Jaskier tonight.

“Shush...” Jaskier soothed, the firm strokes already cooling the fire inside Geralt's belly. “This isn't my first love potion type situation. Happens to bards a lot, if you can imagine. Let me take care of you.”

The dexterous fingers of one hand worked his cock, the other stroking Geralt's over heated skin. “Jaskier.” Geralt tried to press a command into the word, but it came out a desperate moan instead.

“Shush. I'll take care of you.”

It didn't take long for Jaskier's practiced hands to bring him off. Geralt groaned, his hips bucking, come spilling across his stomach. “See?” Jaskier asked. “Doesn't that feel better?”

Geralt had to admit, it did a little. Yet, as soon as he pondered the sudden relief, burning need flooded through him once more, the ache in his balls worse than before. His cock didn't even go soft, not for a second.

“Hum...” Jaskier bit his lip, hand still lightly caressing Geralt's cock. “I had hoped for a little down time in between.” Wetting a cloth, he cleaned the come off Geralt's stomach and started stroking again. “How about my tongue this time?” he suggested. “Wouldn't want you to get bored with my offerings.”

The fire inside Geralt burned his voice away and all he could do was lay there, hand still latched around Jaskier's wrist.

Jaskier had long made peace with the fact that he'd never be able to properly attend to Geralt with his mouth. There was simply too much to take, no matter how he approached the problem. They had always made do with Jaskier stroking with one hand, and licking the fat head, treating it to all the delights his lips and tongue had to offer.

He swiped his tongue over the angry red head, massaging the foreskin a bit. Geralt moaned and writhed. “Jaskier, touch me.”

Not breaking his rhythm, Jaskier dragged his other hand across Geralt's chest, massaging the muscles tight with need. Geralt pulled his hand up to his face, sucking Jaskier's fingers into his mouth, soothing the burning desire a little more.

It was a stretch but Jaskier made it work. He kept his lips on Geralt's cock head and his fingers in his mouth until Geralt moaned, coming again. Some surged into Jaskier's mouth, there was no avoiding that. He swallowed quickly and disentangled his hands from Geralt.

Another wipe down and Jaskier weighed his options. He didn't want to offer his ass until the end. Geralt needed him, and it wouldn't do to tire himself out too early, though his arm was a little sore already.

Much to his surprise, Geralt's cock took a moment to recover its interest this time around. “Good news. You might be through this sooner than we thought.” He dipped his head down, licking the head again. Geralt moaned.

Geralt didn't say a word for the rest of the night. His vocabulary had been reduced to moaning “Jaskier!” before coming into the bard's hand or mouth.

The combination of the siren's spell and the muscle relaxant made it feel like Geralt was burning at the stake: tied in place, unable to move as the flames lapped at him. But with each touch of Jaskier's hands or mouth, the flames receded a bit and the ropes loosened. He felt himself coming out of it, but still did his best to stay still and let Jaskier touch him.

It was dawn when Geralt's cock started taking its sweet time to wake up. Jaskier smiled, eyes tired, lips puffy and muscles a little sore. “We're almost through this. And I saved the best for last.”

An oily hand wrapped around Geralt's cock and he groaned. The potion was starting to wear off and he brought his hands up to cradle Jaskier's hips as he positioned himself. “Jaskier,” he hissed, but the rest of his protest died in his dry throat.

“I'm here,” Jaskier whispered back. He sunk down on Geralt's lap and the Witcher groaned, hands gripping tight to lithe hips. _Too tight_ , the little voice in the back of his head said. Already, he saw the shadow of bruises forming around his fingers. Jaskier didn't seem to mind, he threw his head back and reveled in the sensations as he fully seated himself. But sometimes, Jaskier was too stupid to see what was happening right in front of him.

He started rocking, driving them both to a quick, exhausted climax. Heat curled in Geralt's belly, Jaskier was right, he only needed one more.

The slick slide of the bard's sweaty thighs against his added a new layer to the sensation, more than his soft hands or plush lips, and Geralt finally freed himself from that stake, thrusting hard one last time and spilling inside Jaskier.

Jaskier let out a sharp cry, which morphed into a moan. He quickly stroked himself off, finishing just as Geralt collapsed back on the bed. “There we are.” He smiled to himself, happy at a job well done. “I'll clean us up and we can try to get a few winks before collecting your gold.”

Sated by a little sore, Jaskier stumbled off Geralt and washed in the chilly water from the basin. He went to wipe the come of Geralt's skin one last time only to find the Witcher sound asleep on the bed. They managed to make it through the spell. Nodding to himself, Jaskier finished cleaning and laid down in bed, getting some much needed rest.

A few hours later, they were still exhausted, but had to get up and collect Geralt's gold before heading out. Jaskier joked about how it was his turn to ride Roach after all the work he put in. Geralt said nothing, didn't even crack one of those scowly-smirks of his that sort of passed as a smile.

They dressed in silence, saw the magistrate in silence (except for Jaskier to negotiate a better price for Geralt; he did have his non-sexual uses, thank you very much) and they left town in silence.

Geralt wasn't much of a talker, normally it was Jaskier talking and Geralt not responding. But there was this... tension, Jaskier couldn't put his finger on it, and something told him he'd be wise to hold his tongue rather than loose it.

Finally, after almost three hours of walking, Jaskier couldn't handle it anymore. “Is this about last night?” he asked. “The broody, quiet, pretending I'm not here, thing. Is that because of what happened? I already told you, not my first love spell. I was perfectly fine helping you in—”

“Helping?” Geralt growled. He brought Roach to a stop and glared daggers at Jaskier, eyes aflame. “You were helping me? I don't quite remember it like that.” Yes, Geralt had hoped to put this whole situation behind them, never mention it again, but Jaskier just had to go and prod, spilling open Geralt's anger like a nest of wasps.

Jaskier's mouth fell open. He made a few gulping noises before finding his words again. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were under a love spell—siren spell, whatever. I know how those work: unbearable fire and pain until you fuck it out. There's only one cure and I had it for you! Besides, I wasn't the one moaning 'Jaskier, don't stop.'”

Geralt jumped off Roach and got in Jaskier's face, towering over him. “Jaskier, don't. Stop.” The words sunk in and Jaskier's eyes went wide. “I asked you to stop. I said I didn't want to hurt you and you didn't care what I wanted. You did what _you_ thought I needed.”

Tears welled in Jaskier's eyes, his lips trembling. “But I... why wouldn't you want? Why?”

“Why?” Geralt was shouting now, standing in the middle of the road, shouting as Jaskier cried, looking to all the world like he was the villain. But he didn't care. “This is why.” He yanked open Jaskier's doublet, ripping the seam a little, then pulled up his undershirt. Dark blue and purple-red bruises ringed Jaskier's hips. He could tell they hurt more than any normal love bites he'd left behind, not to mention the slight limp in Jaskier's step.

“Do you know how much I have to hold back to have sex with a human? If I loose control, for a moment, you end up with broken bones.” He dropped Jaskier's shirt and stepped away. “There was no way to control myself last night. We're lucky you ended up with nothing but bruises and a sore ass. You didn't think, Jaskier, and you didn't listen.”

Geralt turned and got back on his horse, leaving Jaskier silently crying. “Come on,” he barked. “I want to make camp early so we can get some fucking sleep.”

Jaskier followed in silence, tears threatening to spill every time he looked at Geralt. How could he be so stupid? Miss so much? The memory of last night played in his head, and suddenly he saw it in a different light. All those times Geralt held his wrists, trying to slow him... each whispered word as he ran out of energy to shout... How many times did Geralt want him to stop? And he ignored them all.

They made camp while it was still light, not saying a word to each other. Geralt grunted “Going for a bath,” and disappeared into a stream just out of eye-shot.

With Geralt gone, Jaskier finally let go of the sob he'd held in his chest since their argument. He wiped the snot from his nose and stood up, stripping his doublet and undershirt.

He hadn't seen the injury before, hadn't thought about it, but there it was, horrifying and luridly bright. Bruises ringed both his hips, larger than Geralt's hands, the damage spread outward, dark blue stretching almost as high as his waist. It would take a week to heal. A whole week reminding Geralt he lost control, and Jaskier had done nothing to stop him.

Jaskier got dressed and retreated to bed. Despite the agony in his heart, exhaustion soon took him.

~

Jaskier woke with a pain in his side. Geralt's heavy arm laid across his waist, their normal sleeping position, but with the bruises, far from comfortable. He started to wiggle away before stopping himself. _This is what you deserve. You didn't listen and you hurt him. Feel the pain like he does._

Geralt twitched behind him. “Jaskier, what is it?” Apparently, Geralt's rightful anger took a back seat to making sure Jaskier was safe. He grit his teeth, hating himself a little more.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Geralt stirred a bit more behind him, pushing himself up onto one elbow. “You smell different. What happened?”

The dam inside Jaskier broke, once again proving he was not as strong as Geralt when it came to tolerating his emotions. He curled into a ball, covering his head with his hands. “This is all my fault. I didn't listen, you—you didn't want me to help. Not like that. I hate the way you won't talk to me but I know it's my fault, and I deserve your anger. If you need...” his voice cracked, “if you need me to go away, I will. I'll leave at first light.”

“Jaskier.” Strong arms curled around him, Geralt's lips close to his ear, blowing warm breaths across his skin. “Calm down.”

But he couldn't calm down. Sobs wracked his chest as last night played in his head, over and over, Jaskier saw more signs that he ignored. How could he be so in tune with every woman he touched, and such an idiot with Geralt, the love of his—

It took a few minutes for Jaskier to cry himself out, Geralt held him through it. When he'd finally calmed, Geralt sat up and pulled Jaskier into his lap, staring deep into his eyes, cornflower blue rimmed with red.

“I don't want you to leave. I _need_ you to listen to me. When I tell you to run, you run. When I tell you to hide, you hide. When I tell you I might hurt you.” He didn't finish. Jaskier understood, possibly for the first time. Geralt wasn't just deadly to the beasts of the world, no matter how careful he was with Jaskier, they were always taking a risk, a risk he made oh so worse last night.

“I promise, I'll listen,” he whispered.

“Good.” Geralt pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Jaskier's lips, then wiped away the lingering tears with one large hand.

“How long until—” _I'm forgiven?_ Jaskier wanted to say but didn't. How long until they can get passed this?

Geralt lifted the hem of Jaskier's shirt, exposing the bruises, still brightly colored and hard to miss. “When these fade.” _Then, we can get back to normal._

The next morning was less tense. The day after, a little better. Geralt started talking to him again (more, commenting on his songs, “it didn't happen like that.”) and Jaskier felt a little normality creeping in...

Until he went to undress for bed and Geralt's eyes flicked to his hips. The bright blue faded, leaving dark purple and red, a little black. Somehow, it looked worse. He felt better though, and Jaskier so wanted to tell Geralt the pain was fading, but there was a saying about pushing one's luck, a saying he couldn't remember. He decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.

After about a week, only the faintest yellow graced his skin, barely noticable. Still, Jaskier waited for the right moment.

That moment came two days later. They were stopped at an inn and Geralt was stewing in his bathwater. Jaskier stood next to the tub and removed his shirt, lifting his arms to show perfect, peachy skin had returned.

A wolf-like smile curled Geralt's lips. He took another moment in his bath, then got up and dried himself off. He arranged the pillows against the head of the bed and sat down, staring at Jaskier, waiting.

Jaskier sprang into action. He quickly retrieved the oil from his bag and set it on the table next to the candle before climbing on Geralt's lap. Before he could reach for the oil, Geralt grabbed his hand and kissed him, slow and deep, licking into his mouth, claiming him.

Jaskier remembered deep kisses like this. He didn't even know he missed them until this moment, because there had been sex this past week: hands and tongues before bed, quick kisses, blow jobs on the road side. But every time he lifted his shirt, Geralt frowned at the still fading bruises. With that... reminder removed, Geralt intended to take his time enjoying all the things they'd missed recently, and who was Jaskier to stop him?

Hands smoothed across Jaskier's skin, over his back, down to cup his ass. He shivered at the touch, kissing deeper, moaning into Geralt's lips. Only after Geralt had licked every surface of Jaskier's mouth did he break the kiss. Eyes like fire flicked over to the jar of oil.

It's possible Jaskier was a little too liberal with the oil this time, but it was borne from an overabundance of caution. His fingers absolutely dripped with the stuff as he tried to line up Geralt's cock and his hole. Geralt did nothing to help, of course, just sat there, smirking at Jaskier's fumbling.

The smirk vanished when Jaskier managed to sink down, the slow movement making them both moan. “I've missed this,” Geralt whispered. His arms wrapped around Jaskier's back, holding them close, almost nose to nose. Shifting a bit, Jaskier started to raise and lower himself on Geralt's cock, their eyes locked.

They'd never done it like this. Face to face, yes, but there was usually so much writhing and panting, Jaskier couldn't remember looking into Geralt's eyes while they had sex. What a fool he'd been to miss out on this.

The glowing amber burned with each slow movement, dark lashes fluttering against pale skin. He wanted to kiss those eyes, so he did. Soft kisses across eyelids turned into soft kisses all over Geralt's face, up his cheek, brushing against his temple, down his devastatingly handsome jawline. Anywhere and everywhere, Jaskier never wanted to stop.

They moved together in a new way, more in tune than before. For the first time, Jaskier felt he knew what Geralt was thinking... or maybe, he just hoped they were thinking the same thing.

His chest heaved, breaths coming faster as he rolled his hips, stroking his cock with a free hand. Geralt's strong hands continued to touch all over, stroking his back, rubbing over his thighs as they strained with each movement.

When Jaskier felt his climax coming, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Fire surged up his cock as firey eyes looked back at him. Geralt groaned a few seconds later, pumping him full.

The tension surrounding them snapped and they both slumped like puppets with their strings cut. It took a little longer than normal to disentangle themselves, as they both tried to touch and hold as long as possible.

When they were cleaned up, Jaskier settled into bed, Geralt's arm holding him tight to his chest. Jaskier closed his eyes, breathing a final sigh of relief. Finally, he felt normal again.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I may have made Geralt a little softer than he is in the show, and Jaskier a little more emotionally delicate, but I'm not sorry where this fic took me. I also wanted to show the contrast between Geralt and the other Witchers very starkly, so hopefully I managed that. (I made up both Witchers, didn't want to use a name for a character who died in the games.)
> 
> Side note: I bruise easy, so the varying colors of Jaskier's bruises are mostly based on my own experiences.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed reading, thank you :)


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